for the game had never been fair, the dice were loaded. They were swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes, and they had been trapped and put out of the way by the swindlers and thieves of millions of dollars.
Upton SinclairAbout author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: american
- Born: September 20, 1878
- Died: November 25, 1968
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It's so beautiful that it hurts me,' said Anne softly. 'Perfect things like that always did hurt me — I remember I called it "the queer ache" when I was a child. What is the reason that pain like this seems inseparable from perfection? Is it the pain of finality — when we realise that there can be nothing beyond but retrogression?'
'Perhaps,' said Owen dreamily, 'it is the prisoned infinite in us calling out to its kindred infinite as expressed in that visible perfection.
L. M. Montgomery
The kid's driving me bat-shit," Cam complained as he stalked into the kitchen. "You can't say boo to him without him squaring up for a fight."Mm-hmm."Argumentative, smart-mouthed, troublemaker."Must be like looking in a mirror."Like hell."Don't know what I was thinking of. You're such a peaceable soul.
Nora Roberts